Results
by NorthernStar
Summary: Pub, exam talk, bad memories for Mickey. I’m really bad at summaries. Vignette.


Disclaimer: Not mine.

Rating: G

Summary: Pub, exam talk, angst. I'm really bad at summaries. Vignette.

Notes: For Therm. Thanks for all the chats and fics.

**Results**

By NorthernStar

"Got your results yet?"

Suzie stopped inspecting her drink and looked up. "Sorry?"

"Your exam results." Phil repeated, "you get 'em yet?"

She shook her head. She really didn't want to talk about this. "No, not yet."

Susie really didn't want to be here, at Stuart's welcome drink, but she knew it would look like bad sportsmanship if she didn't so here she was. It didn't stop every mouthful of wine tasting bitter.

"Waiting's the hardest part." Phil told her.

"I remember." Sam said with a smile. "I knew I got this one question wrong and I spent so many sleepless nights worrying over how many points it was going to cost me." She broke into a grin. "But I think it was one of the best days I've had when I got that letter saying I passed."

Phil swallowed the last of his beer. "I didn't think I got any wrong." He boasted. "Course, I didn't think I got any right either."

This drew chuckles from everyone around the table.

"Went and got completely blotto when I passed." He continued. "Woke up next morning and couldn't even remember what I was celebrating."

"What about you, Guv?" Susie asked. She was keen to keep the conversation away from her.

Jack Meadows half-smiled. "Too long ago." He hedged.

There was general disagreement from the members of CID.

"Why don't you ask Stuart?" He suggested. "It's fresh in his mind."

"We know." Phil said blandly. "He's already bored us with the details."

"Several times." Sam added.

The new DS accepted the jibes with a grin. "Much rather hear yours, Guv." He said.

Jack sighed. Like Susie he had come to be polite. This sort of bonding was best left to the youngsters who wouldn't be suffering for it in the morning. "It was a different time. Experience counted for a lot more back then."

"Still had to sit those papers though," Stuart pointed out. "And wait for the results."

Jack gave a smile. "Well, you don't think my hair was always this thin?"

This drew more chuckles.

Mickey straightened up in his chair. "Weren't the sergeants." He told them with a grin. "It used be long when I started."

"You're kidding?"

Mickey shook his head. "Nah." And he waved his hand at his own head to demonstrate hair than went all the way back to the shoulders. "Right down 'ere, it was."

"Must have been the stress of working with you then, Mickey." Phil added to more laughter.

"And don't think we've forgotten you, you know." Sam said to Mickey.

Mickey looked up.

"Yeah, go on; tell us what taking exams in the hallowed halls of MIT was like." Phil added.

He looked uncomfortable. "Same. Went there, did 'em, came 'ome."

"And?"

"And I passed." There was an edge to his voice than he couldn't hide. His colleagues went quiet. He got up, "same again, yeah?"

Everyone agreed, with a sense of relief.

Jack got up too. "I'll give you a hand." He said.

Stuart looked at his new team. "What was that all about?"

"He was demoted a few months ago." Sam explained. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"Why was he demoted?"

Sam was aware of more than just Stuart's interest. Jack had kept the reasons out of the gossip mill for Mickey's sake and she wasn't about to go destroying that. "He helped us out when he shouldn't have done." Then she looked over at Stuart, "so are you settling in?"

---

Jack followed Mickey over to the bar. Fortunately it was a quiet night and the pub was largely deserted.

"They weren't to know." Jack said as they waited for the barman to pull the pints Mickey had ordered.

Mickey wasn't looking at him. "Nuffin' to know."

"Mickey-" He began.

"Look, Jack," he interrupted him. "I'm OK, yeah? So I don't have the funny story. Ain't the end of the world."

--back--

The envelope was pristine white, sharp and crisp. It was quality paper. Mickey spun it between his fingers as he waited. Then he progressed to tapping it against his bent forehead. And on to scraping it against the stubble under his chin. And finally back to twirling.

Anything but actually opening it.

How long was this going to take anyway?

The door beside him opened and Jack leaned out. His friend's face was dark and tense, betraying his feelings. God only knew what his own looked like.

"The jury's come back in." Jack told him.

Mickey quickly pocketed the letter.

Jack frowned. "What's that?"

"Nothing."

Mickey followed Jack into the courtroom where two days before he'd given evidence. He sat down in the benches and couldn't quite bring himself to look at the jury standing at the side of the room. Instead he bent his head to his lap and listened as his gut twisted with nerves. He didn't think he could look Jack or anyone else in the eye again if this went against him.

"Do you find the defendant, Martin Delaney, guilty or not guilty?"

Mickey looked up. Looked right at Delaney.

"Guilty."

Delaney didn't flinch. Mickey dropped his head into his hands. He was shaking.

Jack patted his back. "Well done," he said.

The next few hours he felt too stunned to pay attention to what was going on. Everyone was offering their congratulations and it just didn't seem real. It didn't feel like something he should be celebrating.

Finally Jack walked him back to his car. The DCI had refused to let him drive to and from the trial and escorted him every day. Jack had taken leave for this. Words couldn't express how grateful Mickey felt, he didn't think he could have got through this without Jack's support.

"Well open it then." Jack urged.

"What?"

"That letter you had. It was your sergeant's exam results."

"Yeah."

"Well looking at it won't change what's in there." Jack pointed out. "You've already won once today."

Mickey took out the envelope and opened it. He stared at the results without any joy or relief and then handed it over.

Jack prepared himself to commiserate. But then he caught sight of the words. "You passed?" He didn't understand the long face.

Or maybe he did. Mickey had endured a five day long trial and his evidence had been harrowing to listen too. It must have so much worse to actually give. He was still in shock. This was insignificant in comparison.

"I'll buy you a drink."

"Another time, ay?" Mickey told him and opened the car door. "I just wanna get 'ome."

---

"Still, you should be proud of your results." Jack told him. "Both of them."

Mickey searched for some money to give to the barman. "Yeah."

And he was, for whatever that was worth.

"Never did get you that drink." Jack said and waved down Mickey's wallet. He got out his own and handed over a twenty to the barman.

"Call it late."

Mickey grinned and began gathering up the beers.

"Cheers, guv."

--fin--


End file.
